The Pilot’s Lounge #147: Pilots Fly To OSH

I’d
stepped into the pilot’s lounge at the virtual airport after finishing up with
my last student of the day. I didn’t think anyone was still in the building and
I wanted to make sure the coffee maker was off—it has a tendency to create
enough smoke to fog the room by morning if left unattended. There’s supposed to
be an automatic shutoff but I can’t help but suspect that it has developed a
personality and gets upset at being ignored and retaliates when people leave of
an evening.

The switch for the caffeine dispenser was firmly in the off position, so I started to turn toward the door, intending to head home. As I did so, I noticed that there was a copy of Last Plane Out, John Ball’s novel of aviators, personal integrity and what it means to have a passion for flight that defines one’s life, lying on the table nearby. I’d been deeply moved by the book when I’d read it as a teenager. Ball’s pilots were people who were a cut above ordinary because of their commitment to the highest standards in practicing their craft, readiness for—and ability to handle—the unexpected, an instant willingness to help others and a refreshing humility in their carriage. They had pride in their skills, without hubris, and the visceral understanding that no matter how much they knew, there was always so much more to learn. I grabbed the book and sat down to reread some of my favorite parts.

An hour
later it was dark outside, and I was still engrossed in the book. I looked up
at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Karver came through the door and
said, “Hey, how you doin’?”

“Great.
What brings you here so late?”

“I just
landed, put the plane away, saw your car in the lot and came in here looking
for you.”

“Oh, man,
what did I do this time?”

“I was hoping to talk to you about flying into AirVenture. I read that painful column you wrote after a friend of yours was killed in a crash just short of the airport on the Fisk arrival and you were furious at the stupid pilot stuff you’d seen that year. I’ve printed out the NOTAM for Oshkosh, read it, underlined and highlighted stuff; I’ve read just about everything I can find on flying in and watched a boatload of YouTube videos. But I’ve still got questions.”

“Karver, I
think you’re doing all the right things. I’m not sure I can add anything to
what you’ve done.”

“Look,
you’ve flown into Oshkosh for over 45 years, right?”

“Something
like that, but I missed a few years.”

“Yeah, so
what do you think is really important about flying in?”

That
stopped me for a moment. Karver is in his early 20s. He’s had his private
ticket for something over six months, has already gotten a tailwheel checkout
and is one of those poor schmucks who has lost is soul to flying. He reads
everything he can, and I think I learn more from him when we talk than he does
from me. As I thought, something came to me.

Pilots and
Drivers

Know the NOTAM cold.

“I think
flying into Oshkosh is where pilots are separated from airplane drivers.”

“Yeah, I
guess the old insult has faded with time. When I was learning to fly, the worst
thing you could say about a pilot was that he ‘drove’ an airplane. It meant
that the person thought in only two dimensions, not three, had no pride in
turning a collection of aluminum and rivets into a living, flying entity,
probably couldn’t fly both straight and level at the same time and when he
approached an airplane at its tiedown, the airplane hung its head in shame at
having to put up with the ham-fisted machinations of the uncaring human that
was about to turn the ignition key.

To me,
Oshkosh is aviation’s Mecca. True pilots fly to Oshkosh. They make pilgrimages
to Oshkosh. Hundreds of pilots save for years just to be able to afford to fly
in one time. Think of what you’ve done already to prepare—you’re not making a
$100 hamburger flight. You’re going to fly into the busiest airport in the
world. You recognize the seriousness of the endeavor. That’s what pilots do.

Respect

Respect the fact that you’re flying into the busiest airport in the world.

“I think
that’s the most important thing a pilot can do—recognize and respect the
seriousness of flying into OSH during AirVenture and act appropriately.

“I think
that means being determined to have your game at its highest level from the
moment you’re 50 miles from Ripon on the arrival all the way through when
you’re 50 miles out on the departure. To me that means having taken a flight
review within the last month or so and being truly able to hold 90 KIAS within
plus or minus five knots (and knowing the power setting you’ll need) as well as
altitude within plus or minus 50 feet while tracking directly over a set of
railroad tracks. That’s an objective standard. If you can’t fly to that level
of precision, either practice until you can or don’t fly in to OSH. It seems to
me that part of respecting the seriousness of flying into OSH is having the
maturity and judgment to honestly evaluate yourself and say that as much as you
want to fly in this year, you aren’t going to.

“I think
it means knowing the NOTAM cold and having made and thought all the way through
alternative plans for what you’re going to do if the airport closes or the
weather comes down and you have to divert.

“I think
it means planning the flight so that the leg into OSH is no longer than 1.5 or
2 hours so that you and your pax aren’t dealing with biological pressures that
will adversely affect your ability to do the pilot and judgment thing that
you’re going to need to do.

“I think it means little things such as respecting weight and balance because you may have to maneuver your airplane dramatically right now and over gross or out of C.G. may mean you can’t do it. It means making sure that you are comfortable flying a tight, right-hand pattern and landing on a spot. It means prepping your passengers for sterile cockpit, how to look for traffic and how to tell you about it. Oh, and it means learning that when taxiing on grass—as you’ll do at OSH—you need to hold the yoke all the way aft to maximize prop clearance and minimize the chance of dinging your prop.

Courtesy

You can touch down on the dot.

“I think
it means tamping down the greedy, game-the-system behavior we’re encouraged to
have in today’s world and being ready to show consideration for other pilots
and airplanes. A little courtesy goes a long way on the Fisk arrival. I keep
thinking of the powerful southern lawyer I worked with years ago who was
invariably a gentleman while doing his absolute utmost to win his case. He
taught me that courtesy should never be misinterpreted as weakness. As pilots,
the courtesy we show to another aircraft in coordinating an arrival may just
keep all involved alive. After all, when we’re in flight, we’re playing for
keeps—being a jerk can have fatal consequences.

“I think
it means recognizing that the world is watching when we fly into OSH and we
have an obligation beyond just ourselves to arrive not only safely, but with
some degree of élan.

“Karver, I
feel strongly about flying into Oshkosh. If a pilot doesn’t have respect for
what it involves, he or she should absolutely not be doing it. I have nothing
but contempt for anyone who would try it without reading and being prepared to
follow the NOTAM—I firmly believe that they have caused fatal accidents because
they cost air time as ATC tried to sort them out and that triggered a reaction
elsewhere that could have been stopped had the frequency not been tied up.

“Every one
of us who flies in to OSH is on stage. Our errors are shouted to the world.
We’ve had years where there were so many accidents that there was pressure to
make radical changes to the arrival procedures that would reduce them to one
airplane every few minutes. We have the most liberal general aviation
regulations in the world—and there are those who would like to see them far
more restrictive. A few crashes at OSH could go a long way toward making that
happen. I firmly believe that one inconsiderate pilot could ruin what we have
at AirVenture.

Duty

On final, on speed and configured for landing on the dot.

“We are
pilots. Because of what we have learned and are able to do, we have come to
know the glory of the sky. We make up a tiny fraction of one percent of the
population. That sets us apart in many ways—one of which is a duty to recognize
how fragile the privilege of flying ourselves can be, and to do our utmost to
do nothing that would potentially ruin it for others. I think we have an
obligation to demonstrate at the epicenter of the world for aviation
passion—Oshkosh—that we take the process of flying into that hallowed place
seriously. I think we have an obligation to show the world that we are pilots,
not some lesser being.

“Karver, I
wish I could go with you to AirVenture this year. You’re committed to doing
your best and I know you will fly the Fisk arrival like a pro. I wish I could
be sitting next to you when you hear that ultimate accolade a pilot can
receive—after you fly that tight pattern, land on the colored dot and as you
angle off the runway onto the grass the controller says, ‘Nice job. Welcome to
Oshkosh.’”

2 COMMENTS

Good article. The FISK arrival scares the living Beegees out of me. Did it only once. Sky filled with little aircraft, generally going in the same direction (although not all) and none of them with complete situational awareness of where everyone is (just too much information). Luckily for me, my Mooney was able to do the faster 135 knot, 2300′ procedure and avoid 98% of those I saw. Still did two go-rounds (tower ordered) on 27 because of shenanigans on the runway.